My 19th-century
farmhouse funeral home isn’t half as sexy as a shiny new skyscraper. Yet I
believe I’m more of a neighbour and contributor to the New Toronto Lakeshore
area than all these new towers combined, which is exactly what I told the
developers when they came calling a few months ago.

I was told another
local funeral home (our competitor) had already sold their Lakeshore property
so why not me too? I was invited to imagine what it would be like to see a
sky-high tower built across from Humber College. To imagine the sense of pride
and progress knowing I had helped wipe out the final remnants of a family farm
almost as old Canada.

By signing on the
dotted line, our funeral home could become a plot (a tombstone!) signifying the
end of an era and the dawn of a revitalized Lakeshore. And yes, the developers
offered millions.

What the developers
didn’t factor into their presentation was my belief that there’s a lot more to
life than money and progress. I see the reality of that truth every day when I
come to work and wander into rooms filled with kind-hearted people laughing and
crying as they share stories about the people they love.

A funeral home is
literally a place where life and death intersect.

There are few places
left for expressions of public tenderness. Few places where we can gather as
family, friends and neighbours to cry, laugh and story-tell.

In this age of speed
and progress, places that bring people together – live and in person – are
priceless. A funeral home like
ours has deep roots for a reason. We’re a part of the community, a member of
the neighbourhood and we’re committed to our role as a gathering place.

The developers call me a different
kind of dreamer, the old-fashioned kind. I believe in tenderness not towers.